


Let This Place Be Ours (Forever + Always)

by HowBeautifulItIsToEvenExist



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Family Loss, Grief, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), MCD, Mentions of Suicide, Mourning, TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THE NOTES PLS READ, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, minor marper, no happy ending, pls be nice in comments Im fragile, try Not to cry challenge?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26493493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowBeautifulItIsToEvenExist/pseuds/HowBeautifulItIsToEvenExist
Summary: “There is a saying in Tibetan, 'Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.'No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful an experience is, if we lose our hope, that's our real disaster.”That's what everyone had assumed they needed to do, channel their pain into strength.  But Clarke had spent her entire life being strong, turning her pain and loss into a life.But sometimes, you do not need to be strong, you need to grieve.And so Clarke will grieve.((MAJOR TW PLS READ NOTES AT END BEFORE READING))
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Let This Place Be Ours (Forever + Always)

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea, for a grieving Clarke fic, dark im aware, and born from that idea was ‘day after day’, which was bad to say the least.  
> So here we are, round 2 of grieving clarke.  
> Listen to this playlist while you read if you want the pain to be worse :) s/o to whoever made it! https://open.spotify.com/user/kapitanaida%C5%9B1989/playlist/4FuUMRBVw6HgquyeyQXSz0?si=eKGsqfARSNmAeabQurrIUg 
> 
> There are also a lot of things mentioned that could be potentially triggering, most of these are not spoilers, make sure you read them as i would never want to intentionally cause upset.

25th December, 1996

7:03pm 

I had been driving for hours.

The country lanes and small town roads having long since blurred into one, the journey not as important as the destination that lay ahead.  
It's funny to think of a place you used to call home as anything but just that.

Home

But Arkadia was no longer mine to call home, I lost that right the day I left. Bag in hand, keys in the ignition, the only thought present being to leave. Maybe I should have stayed… stayed and not ran away from the lingering ghosts of those I'd lost.  
But I hadn't stayed, not for my friends or my job. Not even for Octavia.  
No, I had just ran, fled with the stupid feeling that my ghosts would not follow me past the town line.  
They had.

7:58pm 

It's a funny thing, guilt. One simple emotion having so much power over your every action, where you go, what you do. Everything.

I had not realised the true weight of mine until I passed the welcome sign.

And even then, it didn't register to me that the guilt had multiplied, sinking to the pit of my stomach like a rock into the deepest part of the ocean. A rock sinking in the ocean. A body lost in a lake. What's the difference anymore?

It's funny how guilt works.

But I had passed the sign, and I had felt the guilt manifest within me. But even then, I had not felt anything like what happened as I drove past the old Blake house.

The sinking feeling? It doesn't just continue its mission to act as some anchor within whatever emotions I may have left. No. It changes its course, travelling towards the surface faster than I can pull over the car and lean out the door.

They say guilt makes you sick. I guess they were right.

I look up at the house I have just so gracefully, and un-metaphorically, spilled my guts in front of. The paint on the mailbox is worn, but enough remains to be distinguishable. And besides, it doesn't take a genius to figure out the name of their childhood best friend. Reyes.

This is Raven's house.

Raven and Wick, more people I left behind to pick up the pieces. I thought leaving was doing them a favour. I guess i'll never know if there was any truth in that.

I feel like that mailbox as I drive through my old neighbourhood. So much of me gone that all the other pieces can do is peel away...crumble until there is nothing left.

I guess I am destined to be nothing more than a few remaining pieces trying to hold each other up.

I wish they would let go.

8:19pm 

The water looks the same.

It's the only thing I see when I turn off the engine.  
It's captivating in its beauty. 

Sparkling blue spans for miles and miles, bigger than anything and everything around it. It's a good place to think, to allow yourself to be small. Because in comparison to something so present, you are nothing. Meaningless and irrelevant. 

It is beautiful.

How such beauty can hold such pain, I will never know.

The majority of the river is lined by trees and small stone beaches, but not here. The northern point of the seemingly endless water is just as it has and will always be, a steep cliff miles above the sparkling blue.  
The jagged edge of the rock still hangs high above the lake, like a parent trying to shelter a child. And our cliff looks the same, although I do not know why this surprises me. I may have changed in the last four months, but there is no reason as to why nature would have. And so everything looks the same.

And the cliff in all its eternity is what stops me in my tracks. Because although there is no one around, no light and no noise, except the thumping of my heart in my ears. I can see us everywhere.

I can see us in the summer, swimsuits and cans of cheap cider in hand, laying out on a towel. No eyes for anything but each other  
And I can see the two of us in the winter, hot chocolates and blankets wrapped tight. Looking nowhere but each other.

We hadn't bothered to look at the beauty of our surroundings then, too busy being in love to pay any attention to the landscape around us.

But now I have all the time in the world to stare, at the water, at the trees, at the sky.

And I see him in all of it.

8:47pm 

Before, I could spend hours looking at the stars, back pressed against his, his voice soft in my ears. He used to tell me about them, about what they meant, about what they had lived through.  
I could have listened to him for hours.  
And given the choice, I would do anything to be there again, safe in his arms, captivated by everything he did and said.

I had never cared for the stars or the legends they carried, but he had changed it all, changed the way I saw the sky, changed the way I saw myself. He had changed my life, always for better, never for worse.  
But running had started to undo it, I had found myself slipping back into old habits.

The sleepless nights, the covered up wrists, nail marks cutting deep into my palms.

That was probably what had brought me back here, back to the town we had called home, back to our cliff, the same cliff he had proposed on. The same cliff that we had cried on, and laughed on and kissed on.

It was ours.

Everything around me was so distinctly ours.

And so far, memories had brought nothing but pain.

9:38pm 

I probably should have realised it would be cold. It was the middle of winter for god's sake. But I had never been here alone, never been here without his warmth and presence. I used to bring the drinks, he would bring the blankets. That was how it always had been.

I had never been here alone.

And I didn't know it would hurt this much.

9:52pm

Grief is a funny notion.

The end of the prolonged denial phase is rough. It's like pieces of your heart being ripped open as you try to deflect your pain and anger. Mine had been like a game of russian roulette, a constant firing gun with one bullet, no one knowing when I would slip, unleashing my pain and sorrow fueled anger in every direction.  
And when I finally did snap, the bullet finally leaving the chamber, pain was all I had known.  
The days that followed had been the lowest point in my life. And in comparison to finding an overdosed mother and standing at your father's death bed on your 16th birthday, that was saying a lot.

Losing the one person you hold most dear has never been called easy, but never I realised it would hurt quite this much.

The pain never stopped, never left me alone, never gave a moment of peace to gather any kind of thoughts. It had been a mess.

I had been a mess.  
I probably still am.  
Yeah  
I think I still am.

10:26pm

I have vodka in my car.

I don’t drink.

I haven't drank in years, not since my mom died, and not since he had helped me give it up.  
I had lent on the alcohol like a crutch, washing pain and sorrow away with one too many glasses.  
Always one too many.

And that night, five days after my dad’s funeral, he had found me crying in the bath, bottle in one hand, blood dripping in between the fingers of the other, staining the already cold water pink.  
That had been the tipping point.  
I couldn't do this to myself, and I wouldn’t do it to him.  
Aurora had done that to him, and to octavia.  
I wouldn't do that to him.  
So I quit.

And so now all I am trying to do is forget about the bottle in my car, about the sweet sweet burn it would cause if i just thought fuck it and downed the lot.

I will stay afloat.

I will not drink the bottle.

He wouldn't want me to drink it.

And so I retrieve the bottle from the passenger seat, the glass cold against my fingers.  
And I return to my spot on the cliff.

And I cheers to the sky. I cheers to our stars.

And then I empty the contents into the river below.

Watching the poison disappear into the unknown.

Because sorrow made me turn to the bottle before.

It will not do so again.

And besides, I do not drink.

11:16pm 

It's December.

He had proposed in December. On this very cliff, my father's ring in his left hand, my hand in his right.  
He was nervous, thinking I'd say no. Probably even nervous I'd say yes.  
His hands were soft, his words like honey as he listed the reasons I should say yes. And his lips had been soft and warm when they had met mine, his hands slipping under my jumper, gripping me like I was his lifeline, the thing connecting him to reality, to that very moment.  
It was beautiful, but he had it backwards. I was not the one keeping him grounded or centred.  
No, that was the thing he had been doing for me since the day we met.

We had laughed about it later, sat in our booth at the dropship, surrounded by our friends. Murphy had made shots, a perk of dating the very waitress who had hidden the bottle under the register. Harper spent the entire night fawning over the ring, making comments about its carat and trying her hardest to make sure none of us noticed she was sticking to water.  
Raven and I had asked her about it later, pretty much forcing her to confess what we already knew. Monty didn't know yet, his current tour lasting a couple more months than they had expected, his plane not due back from Iraq until february at the latest.  
She had been so excited, I remember the way her face lit up, her smile growing wider at the very mention of the baby they were going to have.  
But then february came and went, and monty’s unit was off radar, lost in a recovery mission the only thing his commander was allowed to say.  
And then march arrived, still no sign.  
April.  
May.  
They bought the bodies back in june.  
I had held Harper as she cried at the airport, and then I had cried into his arms when he picked me up from her place the next day.  
We hadn't wanted Harper to be alone, afraid she would do something she shouldn't, like drink, forgetting about the baby.  
We hadn't anticipated what she had actually done, picked up her life and moved with her parents.  
To England.

Harper had been so absorbed in her grief she had moved across the world, trying to search for her place in life without her high school sweetheart.

The love of her life. 

Gone. Just like that. 

A body in the ground.

No one had understood her desperation to just leave, leave us, leave her home.  
I had not understood it, at the time.  
But then the accident happened, and I finally understood.

Grief does funny things to you.

Harper's grief made her run away, my grief brought me back here.

To our place, the place he had proposed only last Christmas.  
That moment had been perfect. The way his hands had gripped me with such force, such love.  
The way his lips had met mine, salty and warm.

He had been so sure I would say no.  
But he didn't know I had loved him since we were 12.  
Been in love with him since I was 16.

So yeah,  
I had said yes that night.

And then here I stood, 12 months later.

I wish I could do it over again,  
I wish I hadn't said yes.

12.03am 

The sky is clear tonight.

There is nothing but the darkness, the stars.

The stars are so beautiful, so full of life, so tempting.

The darkness is crisp, cold, inviting.

The moon shines bright, illuminating, daring.

It shines brighter in winter, I've decided. The way it lights the entire lake, the way the lake shines straight back at it, it is invigorating.  
Beautiful.

The moon illuminates the other side of the lake much more compared to this side. I can see the dock, where the boat was. I can see the shore, where we had taken photos and my dress had ended up soaked.  
I can see the exact place it began.  
Which also means I can see the exact place it ended.

The air hadn't been clear that day. The summer heat creating a peaceful haze across the water.  
But it hadn’t mattered. Everything was perfect.  
The guests arrived at midday, beautiful long dresses flowing, brightly coloured suits on their arms.  
Everything was perfect.  
Raven and Octavia wore purple, I remember.  
I wore white.  
He wore white.  
It was so beautiful. The ceremony, the dinner, the reception.  
Everyone took photos, laughed, drank and congratulated the newlyweds.  
We were glowing, perfectly content in that moment.  
Husband and wife.  
Everything was perfect.

Emori and her band dedicated a song to us. But everyone could see the way her eyes never left Johns, and his bounced between her own and the ring shining on her finger.  
No one knew that he had been planning the proposal for months, asking our permission to pop the question at the wedding weeks before. Of course we said yes, Murphy and Emori had been dating since they were 19. They deserved to be happy, to find the happiness we had found.

The drinks continued to flow and as the air got thicker, hotter with all of the people and the dancing, I found my new husband leaning against the railing, gazing out onto the lake.  
He hadn't even turned as I wrapped my arms around him, just whispering with a fixated gaze “How is the new Mrs Blake?”  
“Happy.” I had replied, kissing him on the cheek, turning his head in my hands, “The luckiest woman alive Mr Blake”  
And then he had smiled at me. That boyish grin I had loved since I was 12.  
And then we had danced, just the two of us on that balcony, the faint sounds of laughter coming from inside the boat.  
Everything had been perfect, the wedding Octavia had planned, the food Murphy had cooked, the decorations Wick and Raven had spent hours fighting over.  
I find myself smiling at the memories, because we had all been so happy, so in love.  
So foolishly in love.  
Because of course, when you are at your happiest, everything obviously has to come crashing down.

Back in high school, one of our creepier substitutes had spoken about it, I remember him now.  
Regression to the mean, he had called it. Nothing ever being allowed to stay all bad, but nothing ever being allowed to remain all good. Everything would always find its way back to the natural balance.  
The entire class thought Professor Gabriel was just another guest lecturer being forced to give this stupid mythology talk. Most of the class were only there for attendance, to make themselves look good to their parents, teachers, multiple parole officers. And I knew why I was there in the first place, one earphone in, hands intertwined with my future husbands.  
He loved everything mythical. Greek, Roman, Norse, even the boring old Eygypitian crap.  
And he insisted he must attend every single talk. And I of course went with him, ever the dutiful girlfriend in everyone's eyes.

They didn't know the truth. They didn't know I only went to see the way his face lit up during the presentation, or the way he glowed with excitement as the question section neared. It was one of my favourite things about him, his love and passion for everything he did.

And so that night, I had been too engrossed in the beauty of him to notice the flames, to notice the heat creeping closer.  
And then we heard the scream, and suddenly everything stopped.  
People were jumping over the sides, risking a broken bone to flee the growing fire, raging its way through the boat, consuming every piece of the day, of us.  
I had thought it would only take that, the boat and our things from that day.  
But when the fire reached the engine and the boat exploded, I knew I had been mistaken.

Because the surrounding waters were full of guests, coughing and screaming.  
But the boat….the boat was gone.  
And so was he.  
Murphy and Emori were gone, trapped in a room below deck, screaming for help.  
And he had gone back for them, refusing to leave his best friends to die.  
But they hadn't made it out in time.  
And then they were all gone.

3 people died that day.  
And I remember afterwards, standing on the shore surrounded by cries of fear, of sorrow.  
And I remember knowing he had forced me overboard, pushing me out of harm's way.  
And I remember the guilt I felt at leaving him on that boat, of letting him return.  
And I remember laying in the water, a drowning mess in a long white dress.  
And I remember feeling a single drop of rain land on my cheek.  
No… no, it wasn't raining. They were tears. A tear.

And maybe I should have left, ran away to grieve.

But I did not, I had simply gazed up to the sky, and the stars.

And the moon, shining so bright over the horrors below.

The stars were not beautiful, not full of life, never tempting.

The sky had been so clear that night.

And as I gaze up now, eyes finding familiar patterns, I realise.

The sky had not been so clear that night, smoke had risen, I remember, the smoke had covered the sky.

But tonight, the sky is clear once more.

And it is so painfully beautiful. 

1:23am 

The water looks blue tonight.

In the faint light the moon is casting upon it all I see is the blue.

Deep, swirling, rich. Beautiful blue.

It reminds me of the crashing ocean, so far from the town we had called home.  
And it reminds me of eyes.  
Mine, my dads.

Jake.  
His name was Jake.  
The man I adored, the best friend I lost.  
I’m here on this cliff thinking about those I've lost, of course my mind is going to run back to him, just as I always did. When mom drank too much, when she used to grab the nearest object and hurl it in the direction of her 7 year old daughter.  
I would run to his house, curl into his arms and cry. Cry in pain, in anger.  
A little girl crying over the parent she had lost, way before she even lost her.  
Seems pretty fucking poetic if you ask me.

My mom hadn’t always been the way she was.

It had started when I was 7 , after her longtime boyfriend eventually found her stash, needles and pills alike.  
I remember what he said, telling her she wasn't enough, enough for him, enough for herself. He had told her she wasn't enough for me.  
And instead of getting her act together and being the parent her 8 year old needed, she bought more pills, drank more cheap booze.  
And then she had killed herself.

I don't think she had meant for it to get that far, at least that's what I used to tell myself.  
She wanted to escape the pain, escape her life for a second.  
And apparently the drugs and drinking was the only way to do just that.

The day she died I was with Octavia. We were playing, laughing, just being children.  
And then I walked home.  
And found a trail of bottles and blood leading to my mother's cold dead body.  
And then I rang my dad.  
And he had picked me up, called me princess and kissed the top of my head.  
Because ‘Everything will be alright, Clarke’ he had promised, ‘You're going to be alright, it'll be okay’.  
And for a while, post funeral, we had been alright.

He was my best friend, the only one I needed, the only parent I had ever really had.  
We went boating on this lake, I remember.

My 15th birthday, I remember he took me to the lake.

He had said the water reminded him of my eyes, of his eyes. And he had claimed it was our lake.  
He hadn't known about the boy I'd been meeting on the cliff, not yet, he had not known of his daughter's young love.  
But it was our lake all the same.  
But then he left me.  
A single second, a car in the wrong lane.  
A single second was all it took.  
A single second and one of the only people I had left in my life was gone.

They said the driver had been drinking.  
They said all involved died on impact.  
They said there was nothing anyone could have done.  
They were right.

Because no matter how hard I try, everyone I care about seems to leave me.  
Maybe it's my fault, maybe i'm the reason he is dead, just like I'm the reason I'm a widow at 22.

I miss my dad.  
Hell, I think I might even miss my mom.

But right now, staring into the water below, I miss them all.  
I miss the friend who went to war, who never came home.  
I miss the mother who took me to dance, who braided my hair.  
I miss Emori, her laughs and wild tales.  
I miss John, and his wild jokes, the way his eyes lit up when Emori came near.  
I miss Jake, the father who was there for me, who told me it will all be okay.  
Every little memory is painful in this moment, but above all else, I miss the life I should've had, the husband I was supposed to spend my life with.

I thought my dad would walk me down the aisle.

I also thought we were going to have happiness.

You do not deserve happiness Clarke, remember that.

I remember.  
I do not deserve happiness.  
How could I forget?

But the water is peaceful, the water looks happy at least.

I focus on that.

I focus on the way the water moves, peaceful in its every action.

I do not focus on my pain.

I ignore the pain even as the tears start falling into the waves below.

I feel them warm on my cheeks.

I imagine I can feel the way they meet the cold waves.

The waves are blue.

And blue means beauty.

And as far as I've seen, where beauty is born, pain is sure to follow.

You don't deserve happiness clarke.

It rings in my head like a church bell.

1:58am 

Realistically, thinking about it now, sitting on the edge of a cliff was probably not my best move.

Not that it was a bad idea, no, the insane vertigo was completely worth it for this view.

But in an unstable state you aren't supposed to put yourself in danger.

So i guess its a good thing i'm one hundred percent completely stable.

Stability.  
It's a funny notion… is anyone truly ever stable?  
I remember in the 1st grade.  
We did projects. Opposites.  
And being the artistic child I was, I decided to draw mine, so I drew a door on one side.  
And my mother on the other.  
And when the day came to present our projects to the class and the attending parents, i was asked to explain my choice of drawings to the noticeably puzzled faces before me.

So I said it as it was.  
A door is hinged, my mother was not.  
I was symbolic like that.  
Morbidly so, but symbolic all the same.

I promise. Im fine. 

If I had a dollar for every time I have said those two words since the accident, I probably wouldn't be sitting here in a pair of worn down sneakers and clutching a cheap vodka bottle like my life depended on it.

But if the accident didn't happen I wouldn't be sitting here at all so here we are.

Full circle.

________

I think the first time I said it was at the funeral.

Standing over the body of your soulmate was never gonna be easy. No one said it would be.

But between trying to hold back tears and hide your red raw wrists from your friends, it felt like breathing.

That day had been a lot.

People wouldn’t stop telling me how sorry they were, how he was taken too soon, how he deserved to live.

It had taken a lot of willpower not to snap a well no shit back at them.

But they meant well.

I'm assuming they meant well.

And besides, september the 13th might have been what was essentially my funeral, but the funeral for our best friends was no less than 24 hours later. So everyone was understandably a little on edge.

I actually just had to stop myself from laughing at that, thinking about how on edge we all were while im quite literally on the edge.

God, grief has turned me into a cynical poet.

2:04am 

This place is so quiet.

The quiet is unnerving, like something bad is going to happen.

I prefer the noise, the people.

I prefer being with my friends.

I preferred being with him.

I can remember the day we met.

I was eight, he was nine.

My best friends big brother, with curls for days and eyes that felt like home, even then.

I remember Octavia had fallen over, cut her knee. She was screaming, crying so loud you could hear it from the other side of the playground. And instead of trying to search for a teacher, he did an illogical thing, he came and found me.

People knew I had grown up around doctors.

They knew i knew how to fix people, like my mom had fixed people before she was the one needing to be fixed.

So I helped Octavia that day, watched the awe in his eyes as his baby sister stopped crying, stood up and carried on playing like nothing happened.

A day later I remember he came and sat with me at lunch, braving the judgment from everyone else to sit with the girl with the dead mom.  
A week later he joined Octavia and I walking to school.  
A month later we were best friends.

He used to bring me things, tiny little things that probably meant nothing, but to me they meant everything.  
To me, the girl who had lost everything apart from him, they meant everything. He meant everything.  
A book here, a ribbon there.  
And in the years that followed, our friendship did nothing but grow.

I think I was 12 when I realised I loved him.  
The boy with the curls, and the freckles. The boy who would teach me about the stars, who managed to quote old writers in everyday life, like some kind of teenage history teacher.

I loved his smile, the way he would nervously grin whenever he picked me up for a date in his old truck, hands fiddling together, shaking. But he was still beautiful.  
Everything about it was beautiful, about us.  
The places we’d go, beautiful.

I remember when we were 15, he took me to the lake.  
It was the day we first found the cliff.

We were planning on going swimming.

It was almost 40º, but the lake was empty.

The quiet was so peaceful, so serene paired with the beauty of the surroundings, and the beauty that sat in the driver's seat next to me.

So we had driven to the lake, and we had spent all day there.  
And once the sun had begun to set, we climbed our way up to this cliff, and he taught me about the stars.

He would always teach me about the stars on this cliff

We would always come here if we needed to escape, to grieve, to step back and remember we were still breathing.

This place was ours.

Our love flowed through those waters.

Our love was laid bare upon the rocks that formed our cliff.

The place where we fell in love, the place where he proposed.

The very cliff I now sit upon, forgetting I do not drink while I'm clutching this bottle like a lifeline.  
The glass cutting into my hands, the blood dripping into the water below.  
This is a line I promised him I would not cross after last time.  
But sometimes pain makes lines blurry and you forget you aren't supposed to cross them.  
And you forget you do not drink.

But it's ok.

Sometimes the pain can be beautiful.

Beautiful like he was, like our love had been.

And right now, watching lines of crimson run between my fingers and fall to the floor as they mix with the tears I had not even noticed were falling.

This in itself is beautiful.

2:39am 

It's getting too dark to see clearly.

I thought I could still make out the silhouette of the rocks where they had dragged his body ashore.

I can't.

I had not realised how long I have been sitting here, staring into nothing, thinking about everything.

I've been doing a lot of that recently.

Thinking about it, I should probably be enjoying being here, given that it's been months since I last stepped foot anywhere near this god forsaken lake.

This painfully beautiful lake.

So many beautiful moments.

But so much pain.

Why does everything in my life end in pain? My Mom, Jake, everything.

It's like I'm cursed, cursed to live a life alone without anyone to share smiles with, anyone to turn to when the ghosts of the past catch up to me.

Technically i didn't have to be alone. Leaving was my choice.

I could've stayed in this town and carried on my life, studied to be a doctor like my Mom, or a pilot like my dad.  
I could've stayed and been with Octavia, helped each other through our grieving.  
I could've stayed and helped Raven deal with losing her best friend.  
I should have stayed and dealt with all of it… the pain and the joy couldve lived side by side in my life, allow me to be happy without constant reminders of everything that i cant seem to have.

But I had ran. 

I had packed my bags and drove until I hit the coast. 

And then I had spent 3 months motel jumping. 

Getting high. Drinking around. 

In the purest form, Clarke Griffin is a fuck up. 

And if I’m being perfectly honest…  
I couldn’t care less. 

But mistakes are all I had. All I did. 

I undid all the good he had done, all the beauty he had discovered. 

I ruined it all. 

But I shouldn’t do this. 

I should not think about my past mistakes now,

So instead i look up to the sky, and amongst the stars I see him, I see us.

So i look up to the stars,

And I say goodbye.

‘I miss you Bellamy, more than I ever thought possible. But I know I will see you again.’

‘Let this place be ours, forever and always’

_______

They found the body of 22 year old Clarke Blake on the 26th of december 1996. The police report stated the cause of death as hypothermia and Pulmonary edema.  
The patrolling officer on site had noticed something unusual in the water, and decided to call in a dive team.

It took them 25 minutes to recover the body.

2 minutes more to call the DOA.

In the statement given by the officer, Officer Natanial Miller, a past friend of the deceased, he had described her as hollow. A shell of the girl he once knew. He also notes that she had significant blood loss from multiple wounds on both arms, which later matched samples found on the overlooking cliff. Items later thought to belong to the deceased were also found, including an empty bottle and a photograph.  
They held the funeral a week later, attended by Raven Reyes, Kyle Wick, Octavia Blake and the aforementioned Nathan Miller. They chose a closed casket, as the water exposure had significantly damaged the body.  
The service was short, and the body buried in the Blake family plot, alongside one Bellamy Blake.

The police report had declared the cause of death as sucide, finding traces of alcohol in the deceased car along with her wounds. 

The news had called it a tragic accident, a grieving widow slipping off of a cliff.

Nathan knew better.  
He knew what that cliff meant to Clarke, what it had meant to Bellamy.  
He knew what had happened on that cliff the christmas of 1995, and he knew what had happened at the lake the following august.  
He also knew that Clarke didn't drink, not anymore, not since Abby, and not since Aurora.

So no, he did not believe Clarke had accidently tripped and drowned, he knew better.  
Clarke had a broken heart.  
A heart too broken for someone so young

And since losing Bellamy, he didn't know it was a matter of time before she gave in and listened.  
And so she had listened, but not to the comforting words of her friends.  
No,  
She listened to the waves, to the place where the sky meets the stars.  
And now she is gone.

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings  
> Mentions of self harm  
> Drug addiction  
> Alcohol addiction  
> Death  
> Flashbacks of death  
> MCD  
> Suicide  
> Multiple deaths at once(By the end there is literally no one alive)


End file.
